


the sun shines brighter when you're here

by belgard



Category: IT (2017), IT (2019), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Soft Richie Tozier, bev is the coolest, eddie has an obsession with holding handsies, he's just a babie okay :(, so imagine the chapter 1 cast but like older, stan's shower caps, they're all like 17 or 18, theyre in high school and theyre gonna gradu8 and it's sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 19:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belgard/pseuds/belgard
Summary: richie knows it’s their final days of being together, being in high school before they all go to university and forget all about this. he tries to cling onto whatever it is they have left, but he can’t imagine a day without them.orhim.





	the sun shines brighter when you're here

**Author's Note:**

> **note:** flashbacks in italics! pennywise doesn't exist, they never made the blood oath
> 
> hey!!!! im still emo from eds and richie but i hope this can soothe your pained heart

** **

** **

A day in Derry has never been this bright—that is the first thing that Richie notices. He doesn’t recall ever feeling this kind of breeze against his calves when he rides his bike with the others, on most days, on his _off _days. He doesn’t remember ever feeling like his heart is about to leap out of his chest and lay bare on the cement beneath the black tyres that’s spinning along with their heads, cheeks hurting from laughing too much. Skin pulled up from crinkling eyes, chests heaving from whatever one of them said. It’s always such a nice feeling.

Richie chooses to not say anything this time, just tilts his head back and lets his hair flow back against the wind that’s pushing them forwards on the 12th Street.

He just lets himself feels. And time lets him feel, too, for in better days he finds that perhaps it does have mercy, perhaps it does feel sorrow and empathy towards the people here that’s forced to succumb to its will. Time is a fickle thing, he heard someone said, but he thinks it’s a load of horse shit.

Time is not only fickle, but it’s also merciless.

It goes too fast, or sometimes too slow, but it outruns him, and he just can’t keep up with it.

It doesn’t even feel like it’s been years since they met each other for the first time. It doesn’t feel like years since they had that rock fight with Bowers and his boys. It feels like they’ve been living through _days _of being together, spending their miserable days simply in the presence of each other. Since they were younger he knew that this was all going to fade away, and the thought has always stayed, a little bit like a parasite that he can’t ignore.

He wants to simply enjoy his moments with them, but then, one of his biggest fears is being forgotten, losing something so dear to his heart.

But he doesn’t let it intervene with anything else that has been going on in his life after that. He went to high school, grew his hair out, changed his glasses, changed parts of his wardrobe, talked even more shit. Every day he looks at himself in the mirror and sees a version of him that’s becoming older and older, but in his eyes he sees him just as what he has always been all this time.

Perhaps he never changed at all.

He wears black nowadays, even when Bev tells him that it makes him look like ‘those kids at school who sits at the corner and glare at everyone who even dares to look at them.’ He tells her to ‘fuck off, it’s called _style_, Bev, but I’m sure you’ve only ever seen that word in old ladies’ magazines. What is it, _vintage chic?_’

She just rolls her eyes, every time, crosses her arms, and then gives him _the _look. The raised eyebrow, pursed lips—the works.

But then they’ve all changed, he notices.

Youth is slowly slipping out of their grasps, and he can’t help but to feel slightly afraid of it, over the loss of it. Leaving them seems like the most terrifying thing that he has to do, feels a little more than torture, even if it’s just a mere farewell of lives going forwards, steps going their separate ways like they always do.

He can’t help but thinking that he’s scared that he might be missing a certain person, too.

×

_Richie feels a warm tip of a finger trailing down his leg, and it fucking tickles, but when he snaps his head to face his offender, he’s met with wide, brown eyes that just makes time halt in the little view that he has of the world at the time. It always surprises him, the way he feels his own breathing catches, his throat constricts—it’s a feeling that he has never felt when he’s with anyone else, and he’s so, so confused. So terrified. _

_But at the same time, he likes it. This feeling of being breathless in a world with so much air, enough to fill him a lungful of it. _

_“The fuck are you doing?” Richie nudges his leg, and Eddie’s finger separates itself from him._

_Eddie leans back on his seat, rolling his eyes. “Saw a mosquito on your leg, dickwad.”_

_“Don’t need to go Creepy Crawler on me, Eds.”_

_Eddie scoffs. “Don’t call me that.”_

_Richie bites his lip, pushing his teeth towards the way his chest clenches, but a laugh lets itself escape from his grasp and he can’t help but to smile, hand reaching forwards to pinch the soft skin of Eddie’s cheeks. _

_“Cute.”_

_Eddie slaps away his hand, but the little tug of the corner of his lips is something that Richie doesn’t miss. _

_“Motherfucker.”_

_He wouldn’t miss it for the world. _

×

“When I said this place is a shithole, I meant it,” Richie says, “I still do.”

They’ve parked their bikes in the spot nearest to them, leant them against sturdy trees that’s probably seen worst things in their times in Derry – poor bastards – and they little hatch that they’re staring down upon is somehow looking up back at them, as if it’s trying to call them, trying to say something.

“S—shut up,” Bill manages out, eyes closing for a second, “Shut up, Richie.”

“Yeah, shut up, Richie.” Stan slaps the back of his head, sticking one of his legs into the hatch and upon one of the steps of the flimsy wood ladder that leads down towards their secret ‘hideout.’

It’s a little basement cabin that Ben somehow managed to salvage and made the most out of it, refurnished it back with some of their helping hands, and surprisingly, now it’s a dozen times better than it was when they first got to visit it at Ben’s request. It’s better than nothing, he still thinks to himself.

A place all to themselves. When else could they have a chance to have something like this?

A fucked up basement cabin is the _perfect _place for a gang of friends called the Losers Club to reside on their off days, cigarette trapped between their lips with colourful nanny shower caps covering their hair from spiders. It’s a place for gossip, for talking shit about people, talking shit about the town, it’s just perfect.

“Get in there, Stan,” Mike urges.

Stan shrugs, putting one leg after the other until he’s in, looking up at them with his silly hair covering half of his face. Richie can’t get over how ridiculous he looks with some of his hair coloured dark brown, courtesy to a failed self hair-dyeing session that made Stan scream louder than a hyena. He still remembers it clearly, Bev’s eyes bulging out of their sockets - “Why didn’t you ask for my help?!” - Bill almost heaving his lungs out, and Eddie and Mike rolling on the ground while Stan stared at his reflection, expression horrified. 

That will be a good memory. 

When one of them’s inside, the rest follows. That’s just the way they are. Richie wonders if he could ever find something just like this in this world, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realises that moments like this, they’re irreplaceable. Unforgettable.

×

_“Want some?” _

_Richie looks down at the chocolate bar in front of his eyes, the tip bitten. He leans forwards and captures it between his teeth, biting down and chewing the wafer-like base that’s covered in milk chocolate. Lets it melt in his mouth as he leans back against the grass beneath them. _

_“Thanks, Eds.”_

_Eddie just hums. _

_Richie feels his face heating up when he realises that him and Eddie just accidentally kissed. Technically. Through the chocolate._

_Fucking god._

_He looks over towards him, and sees Eddie laying on his back, eyes closed as he munches on his chocolate bar, skin looking warm and almost golden beneath the sun, chestnut brown hair fanned out across deep green. Eddie looks like he’s enjoying the warmth, and Richie feels warm all over too, but he’s quite sure that it’s not because of the sun. _

_Richie swallows, heart thumping against his chest rapid, rapid, almost like it’s going as fast as they do on their bikes. _

_Then he feels pressure against his calf, and when he looks down, he sees one of Eddie’s socked feet nudging against it, wiggling it against his skin before it stays rested. Breath catching in his throat, he looks over towards Eddie, but instead just sees him with his eyes still closed, face calm, as if he’s indifferent. _

_“I kinda dig this, guys, let’s stay for a while,” he hears Ben say from afar. _

_Bev chuckles somewhere next to him, the sound like wind chimes. “Yeah,” she says, “let’s.”_

_Eddie laughs, eyes crinkling as his shoulders shake against the grass. _

_And all that Richie can think about is that he looks absolutely beautiful. _

×

“Y’know, this might just be the last time that we’ll be here,” Mike says, arms and hands poised above his head as he puts on his shower cap—pink with ducks on it. He looks at them with eyes that scream something so painfully mature, like he’s aged years before they do, and somehow Richie feels a sting in the bottom of his chest, like someone had stuck a knife in there and twisted the wound open.

“D—don’t say. . .that, M—Mike,” Bill says, eyes going up as he fidgets with his hands. He’s wearing a turquoise shower cap with daisies on it, and it’s supposed to be something that Richie pokes fun at, but he feels nothing but sadness. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want to feel that. “We’ll still b—be friends.”

They’ve put these fairy lights across the ceiling, little lamps glowing yellow and illuminating the partially-dark cabin, but they liked the way it looks when they did it for the first time. Makes the place feel comfy, homely. But now it just makes Richie want to close his eyes and forget.

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Richie says, and he feels all eyes on him. He thinks he feels a spider crawling across his skin somewhere, but it could be just nerves. “We’re all gonna go to fucking college and we’ll forget all this. I know we’re all getting away from Derry.”

“We won’t forget, Rich.” Bev takes a drag from her stolen cigarette, and Richie watches the smoke swirl up towards the ceiling in a pretty pattern, like something out of an embroidery work. Almost like blue-grey ivies. “I mean, fuck, how can I forget you guys? You’ve all been the best part of my days here.”

“Oooh, I’m touched. Right here.” Richie says teasingly, leaning his head against the hammock with a hand over his chest. Bev just rolls her eyes, smiling against her cigarette. “Shit, I can’t even believe it’s been years.”

He sees Eddie standing up, walking towards him in those ridiculous fucking shorts, oversized red jumper almost swallowing him whole. He still feels the little hitch in his breathing at the sight of him, looking effortlessly beautiful in everything he does. Sometimes he thinks that it’s useless to be doing something like this, harbouring secret feeling for one of his bestest friends, as it feels like he’s breached an invisible boundary. It’s supposed to feel uncomfortable, but how could he ever feel uncomfortable when he’s always feel so at home with them?

(Or with Eddie?)

He feels Eddie slap a hand against his knee, nodding his head—_scoot. _Richie lets one of his leg falls over the hammock, and Eddie sits opposite him, trainers close to Richie’s face and calf pressed up against Richie’s shoulder.

His whole world is on fire.

He senses eyes over him, and when he turns his gaze, he sees Bev staring back at him, cigarette trapped between her fingers as she nods her head towards him and Eddie on the hammock, her lips pulled into a smirk. He wants the ground to swallow him whole.

×

_“So when are you gonna tell me you have the hots for him, Rich?”_

_Richie halts, hands freezing on the bucket of water he’s holding onto. “I—what?”_

_He feels a hand pressing onto his shoulder, and when he turns, he finds Bev’s eyes looking back at him, expression somewhat knowing. He sits down, against the rocks, and Bev follows suit. He doesn’t know if it’ll feel comfortable for her as she’s in a dress, but then he remembers how she always has these spandex shorts on. _

_Richie just sighs, propping his elbow against the lip of the bucket as he stares into the lake in front of them. _

_“So,” Bev starts, and Richie wants to die, “our little Eds, huh?”_

_Richie groans, rubbing a hand over his face as he kicks his feet against the grass. “Bev!”_

_She just laughs, throwing her head back. “So it’s true? You’re not denying it?_

_“You’re an asshole.”_

_“You’re an asshole _in denial_.”_

_Richie rolls his eyes. “Not in denial when I’m not denying anything, though. Take that, mom.”_

_Bev swats a hand against his arm. _

_“I meant it, you’re still an asshole,” he says. “How’d you know, anyway?”_

_She shrugs, expression smug as if she’s victorious. “’s not hard to see,” she says, picking up a rock before she throws it towards the lake. It bounces four times before it sinks. “You really don’t know a thing about subtlety, don’t you, Rich?”_

_“What d’you mean, subtlety's my middle name, Ms Marsh.”_

_“You look at him like he makes you the happiest,” she says, voice quieting down and dispersing into the chilly air of morning Derry. “And I can see that. I don’t know if the others can, but I see it.”_

_“Am I a selfish dick for it?” Richie picks onto the dirt that’s stuck on his shoe, and then regretting it after when he realises that it might just be dog shit. _

_“Why’d you think that, ‘course not!” Bev’s voice sounds surprised. “You’re human, you catch feelings. And Eddie’s cute and nice. It’s normal.”_

_“But he’s my fucking friend, it’s just—it’s—“ _

_He groans. And then takes out his glasses before setting it down on the rocks. _

_“It’s what, hm?”_

_“It’s just weird. Fuck knows what I’d do if he ever finds out. Probably turn myself in to Henry Mullet Bowers and let him have his godly fun.”_

_“Stop being such a drama queen.” Bev takes out a pack of Marlboro from her bag and offers him it. He takes one out, and she follows. She lights it up for him, as she does wih hers. “It’s just a crush.”_

_He can feel heat travel from his neck and up to the tips of his ears at the word. Crush—it’s such a simple fucking thing but it makes his head spin. It’s just a word but it makes him panic. _

_“But it’s fucking Eddie!”_

_“So what?!” Bev exclaims back, voice almost angry. “You love him, deal with it, Rich, because I think he just might love you too, you fucking dumbass!”_

_A beat. A pause that doesn’t feel like a lifetime because his heart is pounding. _

_“. . .What do you mean.”_

_“I said what I said,” Bev says, taking a quick drag of her cigarette like it’s the only thing that keeps her grounded. “He might like you too but I’ll let you figure that out for yourself. Maybe being a little more sensitive could do much help, Rich. You two make each other happy, I can see that. But it’s just whether or not you two can see it for yourselves.”_

×

“I don’t want to forget,” Eddie says, eyes drifted up towards the ceiling. “I’ve never had anything like this before, and you guys have been a part of my life now. I lose this and I lose a part of myself too. What’s my days without you assholes yapping in my ear about my fucking mom?”

“She’d kill you if she finds you in a room with cigarettes,” Ben says.

Eddie chuckles, head of curly hair fanned out against the beige fabric of the hammock. “She can do what she wants. I’m gonna go to college, I’ll do what I want.” He outstretches a hand towards Bev, who’s leaning against a wooden pillar. “Bev, cig.”

She stares at him for a moment—they all do. Richie can feel his own eyes bulging out of their sockets because _wow_, as much as Eddie doesn’t mind them smoking around him, he avoid cigarettes like the plague when it comes to his own satisfaction. They often don’t find the logic too, over someone with asthma, and a stick that emits smoke.

But his eyes look relaxed, almost like he’s saying _it’s fine. _Bev gives in eventually, walking towards him and lets him grip the stick between his two fingers.

He pulls it closer towards his lips, and for a second, Richie feels his eyes on him. He doesn’t know what to feel.

Eddie takes it in, and holds it, before he lets his lips part and smoke comes swirling out into the air like the perfect picture of indifference. And then he grins, wide, like he’s in a daze of satisfaction.

The others laugh, the sound reverberating in the tiny space they’re in, but Richie’s mind is hyper-focused on the way Eddie’s eyes stay glued onto him.

×

_“Water’s extra fucking murky today,” Richie says, splashing water all over Ben who’s floating next to him, looking up at the sky in a way that makes him look peaceful, before that serenity is ruined by yours truly, of course. “It’s kinda gross, not gonna lie.”_

_“I’m sorry, why are you here again?” Stan says, holding a hand next to his ear. _

_“Shut the fuck up and let me complain in peace.”_

_“Richie’s right, this is so unsanitary, do you know how many people swim in here, how many people pees in it. We’re all technically swimming in piss, you know we could contract all sorts of shit down here, ‘m just sayin,’” Eddie rambles, chest heaving as his hands flail to keep him upright in the water._

_Richie bites down onto his own lip, and hopes nobody sees him smile. _

_“C—c—calm down, Eddie,” Bill says. “It’s. . .fine. Besides if a—anything happens, you’re here to take care of us.”_

_“Bold of you to assume I’ll take care of your yeast infections and skin diseases.” Eddie scrunches his face, before shuddering at his own thought. _

_Adorable, Richie thinks to himself. _

_“But then, what’s life without some good ol’ yeast and fungus?” Richie says. “Makes life colourful, isn’t that right, boys?”_

_“Y’all are sick,” Mike says, shaking his head._

_“That is actually really fucking disgusting and I hope you all get skin diseases for real, I’m going to be the sole survivior while you all die of skin fungus.”_

_Ben’s eyes snap open. “Can you die from skin fungus?”_

_“No, you can’t,” Bill says as he pinches the bridge of his nose._

_“Yes, you can!” Eddie insists. “It’s still a disease, my mom told me it spreads and it’s contagious and it makes your skin all itchy.”_

_“Did your mom say that based on her own experience?” Richie retorts._

_The others sputter out a laugh._

_Eddie rolls his eyes. “Very funny, asshole.”_

_Richie coos. “You know I’m just kidding, cutie.”_

_“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says, face turning red in a way that Richie doesn’t miss. “And _no_, she didn’t have skin fungus, dickhead.”_

_“Sounds kinda fishy, ‘s all.” Richie says, before he holds back a smile. “Kinda like your mom’s vagina on better days.”_

_The others snort, and Mike almost hacks his lungs out._

_“You’re such an asshole.” Eddie crosses his arms. _

_Richie then swims over to him, tries not to coo once more at the way Eddie pouts so adorably that he wants to just pinch his cheeks. _

_“I’m sorry, Eds,” he says. “You know I didn’t mean that.”_

_He lets his hand go beneath the waters and finds Eddie’s hand, nudging it against his in a way that’s meant to just be teasing. He still feels this tingling feeling in his stomach when their skin touch, but he ignores it, tries to blame it on the coldness of the water. _

_Eddie takes his hand in his, expression still sour, before he smiles, and then somehow, everything is well. _

×

“Promise when we’re all grown up, we’ll still hang out with each other,” Stan says, hugging his can of shower caps. “I don’t care what happens, don’t ever forget.”

“Never,” Bill says.

“Never,” Bev repeats.

“I’ll never forget.” Ben sits up straighter.

“I’ll always remember,” Mike says.

“Never,” Eddie says. “I fucking love you guys.”

Richie snorts, trying to bury the feeling of sadness down in the pit of his stomach. It makes him nauseous, but he tries to forget about that feeling alone, and tries to hold onto _this, _the rush of serenity that he feels when he’s with them.

“I’ll never forget you assholes,” Richie says. “I’m gonna tattoo your names on my ass. Half on my right cheek and the other half on my left so I’ll never forget. I’ll even check my ass out in the mirror every day.”

The others just chuckle, and Eddie smiles at him, kicks his foot against Richie’s shoulder in a way that’s surprisingly gentle.

Stan then claps his hands, clapping his hands before he sits down. “Now that’s been settled, I have something hot for you guys. You know how Betty Ripsom and Hockstetter’s always seen together after school?”

Ben raises a hand, before he stands up and says, “Wait! I’m gonna get the beer.”

“Not sure if I wanna drink cabin-fermented beer, Benny Bear,” Richie says.

“Shut up, Richie,” the others say in unison.

He raises his hands up in mock surrender, but he’ll miss this too. 

He thinks he’ll tattoo those words onto his wrist. 

×

_“I’m gonna order some pancakes for us, okay?” Bev says as they nod at her from the booth. She pokes Bill in the shoulder. “Come with me, come on.”_

_Bill shrugs before he stands up and goes along with her towards the cashier. _

_Mike, Stan, and Ben are all too busy chatting across them whilst reading things off the menu that they know they can’t afford, but Stan said that ‘it’s just like window shopping, but with food.’ Richie can see the point. _

_Suddenly he feels something warm against the skin of his hand, and when he looks down he sees Eddie taking his hand in his much smaller one, the touch so light yet so confident Richie can’t help but to feel like his heart’s about to burst. It almost makes him shiver, but then he thinks, it’s just Eddie. _

_He always wonders, in all their unnecessary banter and teasing, they still hold hands like this, like nothing else matters, and Richie wants to know. He wants to know why Eddie first touches the tips of his fingers before moving down to his palm, and then takes his hand entirely, slotting them against each other in a way that makes Richie feel like it’s something so familiar. _

_There’s a pen in the middle of the table, near the forks and the spoons, and he takes it, along with the tissue that’s placed in front of each of them. _

_He writes: Why do you hold my hand so often?_

_It’s not like Richie finds it uncomfortable – quite the contrary, in fact – but he just needs to know, even when his heart feels like it’s teetering towards the edge of a cliff, playing with the danger. _

_He pushes it towards Eddie, and he reads it with his eyebrows furrowed, perhaps in confusion. _

_Eddie takes the pen and writes: I just like it. Your hand’s warm._

_He pushes it towards him, and Richie almost faints. _

_He writes back instead of making a fool of himself: _ _ Okay. Hold my hand all you want, Eds. : ) _

_Perhaps he means to write ‘<3’ but that idea is better left scrapped, the corner of his rational mind suggest._

_This time, he hears it loud and clear, and he follows it._

×

Richie tries to be bold, tries to rely on his heart, because _fuck it_, he could never see this boy again in the future, this boy that managed to steal his heart years ago with his fanny pack and his shorts and his inhaler. Richie has given it to him for free, his heart in its barest form, and he carved their names onto the bridge—he wants it to last.

But time might not be in his favour, so what has he got to lose if this is all fleeting?

The others are still talking about the so called Ripsom-Hockstetter scandal, and Richie honestly wants to join in and gives them his own thoughts about how Hockstetter’s an asshole, but his mind is in another place. Or another person, perhaps.

He reaches out and nudges his hand against Eddie’s, trying to ignore the way his heart beats fast at the mere contact of their skin, but he can feel how warm Eddie is, always so, and he wants to lose himself in this feeling. This pure calmness washing over him like nothing could ever harm him or make him feel left out. He wants to save this memory in his mind, the memory of this feeling, and he doesn’t ever want to see it fading.

He doesn’t care if Eddie doesn’t feel a thing for him, but he cares about _this—_he wants Eddie to remember not only all of them, but also him, always.

No matter how cruel time might be, no matter how the world keeps them apart, he wants Eddie to remember that he’s just a boy, who loves him.

But then he feels Eddie taking his hand in his, and interlacing them together until he can feel the skin of Eddie’s palm, he can feel _everything_. It’s always the same way—Eddie touching the tips of his fingers, and then his palm, and then his entire hand. He sees the world around him, this little hideout, in vivid colours that don’t blind him. There’s stillness in the way his skin almost jumps, but it’s a lovely feeling that makes his heart beat fast, just like it usually is when he’s fast on his bike, wind gushing against his face as his blood roars beneath his skin, veins a bright green.

He opens his eyes, and sees Eddie already looking back at him, a smile ghosting on his lips.

The faint yellow lights of the cabin makes him look so, so beautiful, and it never fails to take Richie by surprise every time—but again, there isn’t a moment that Eddie doesn’t strike him as absolutely breathtaking, even when he’s on fire and angry – _mad_ – or yapping their ear off about the importance of keeping at least one bottle of hand sanitiser in their bags all the time.

He wants to keep this picture in the album of his life forever, this picture of Eddie looking at him with those beautiful brown eyes that he’ll certainly miss when they’re all no longer together. He can never find eyes like Eddie’s anywhere else; it’s just a treasure that nothing can ever replicate, even when something looks similar, they could never emulate the way Eddie’s eyes shine. He almost wrote a poem about them, but he blushes just thinking about it, about how he was slowly turning into Ben, but instead of ‘January embers’ it was ‘Your shit-coloured eyes that I just love so fucking much it hurts my organs I love you okay bye.’

He feels Eddie intertwining their hands a little tighter, grip a bit more firm, before he brings his hand up to his lips and presses a kiss there, against the back of his hand.

The touch doesn’t burn, but it makes Richie light-headed. He feels his cheeks heat up, like a kind of warmth that’s supposed to be embarrassing but he just wants to remembers this feeling, always. He feels like he’s reliving those days with them, heating up beneath the summer sun that’s always usually so cruel to Derry.

Eddie just smiles at him, and Richie still thinks he’s absolutely beautiful.

He’ll never forget this.

How could he, when Eddie manages to steal his heart over and over again?

And then he feels Eddie muttering something against the skin of his hand, voice too quiet for any of them to hear, perhaps not louder than a mere whisper. Richie can feel the words forming against his skin, the way his lips open, and then tongue barely peeking out, and then his lips are pursed.

It’s precisely three words. Three words that feel like they have been burned into his skin. This time, the touch is scorching, and he feels his heart stop. He knows those words. The more he thinks about it the clearer it gets. Eddie might’ve just shouted it loud and clear for all of them to hear, because the words have seared themselves into his body, his mind, his heart, leaving him with the ghost of Eddie’s touch against him. 

_I love you_.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading owo pls comment i need Validation


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